


DC Omega - Wonder Woman

by secondstringheroine



Category: DC Elseworlds, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26869654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstringheroine/pseuds/secondstringheroine
Summary: In search of a champion to deny a dark prophecy, Queen Hippolyta of the amazons determined a competition of skill and speed. From it emerged her daughter, Diana; a child born to Themyscira, sculpted from clay and given life by the goddess Hera. With determination and sorrow Diana left her native land on a quest, never to return again, and in doing so became a heroine to all humanity known as Wonder Woman.
Comments: 1





	1. The Path of Warriors - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends!
> 
> This work is part of a fan canon, DC Omega, and is a continuation following the Wonder Woman chapters as conceieved by Meriades Rei. Please head to the website - http://dc.omegafic.com/wonder-woman/ - if you want to check out their work.
> 
> And now, without futher ado...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon finding her way to Celestial City, Diana takes arms against a botanical invasion at the hands of Poison Ivy. Fresh from her victory she makes acquaintance with Air Force Colonel Steve Trevor. Meanwhile, after slaying the Amazon Queen Hippolyta in cold blood, the jealous Asteria journeys to the world of men; her sole mission, to avenge her honor against compatriot turned rival, Diana.

For Diana, former Princess of the Amazons, the appraisal of others had long been custom. As a child, the only of her kind among grown women, her mere existence attracted the attention of sister and stranger alike. They watched with vested interest as she grew from a babe to a girl, and to a young woman. So familiar was she with their interest that it fell from her notice; at least until she locked eyes with a shy voyeur.

She smiled a friendly smile, as did the young man who averted his gaze. To be regarded by an unfamiliar sex remained a novelty. Though time would surely dull that notion, Diana remained certain of surprises yet to come, for good and for ill.

Steve Trevor’s lip curled under his mustache. “You know, some might mistake that for flirting.”

“Flirting?” Diana cocked her head. “All I did was smile.”

“It’s a very fine line between a smile and a flirt,” he said. “I know you mean well, but you don’t want to give folks the wrong idea.”

She mulled the thought, and frowned. Again Diana turned to her admirer, who in turn balked in the face of her soured expression.

“I can’t be blamed for that kind of presumption,” she said, swirling her fork in mashed potato. “Your people spend every day in shared company. How is it possible for one sex to be so inept at discerning the intentions of another?”

Steve offered a non-commital shrug. “I think you’ll find men and women are more segregated than even you can imagine.”

“More segregated than an island of Amazons?”

He chuckled. “You bet.”

Diana set down her fork. Though rich and flavorful, and presented to her with skill and expense, food no longer held appeal. Her brow furrowed, heavy with the knowledge of a world divided - not merely by nations or races, but the array of individuals who shared it.

Steve paused. His grin faded. “Listen, I’m sorry if I-”

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “This place is so different to everything I know. I can never go home again. It’s difficult to make peace with that.”

_ ‘And never again look upon my mother,’ _ she didn’t say. Once Hippolyta was the mainstay of her existence, the constant upon which Diana could rely. In a land of immortals she had never known longing. Now she was filled with it.

Did she regret? Silently Diana swore to make the most of her new life. Even when her quest was completed she would continue to move forward.

Steve scanned the restaurant. Wandering eyes turned back to their plates. It must have seemed like a date gone wrong; the lucky man spending an evening with Wonder Woman, her uniform replaced with a little black dress, left her staring morosely at her plate.

He reached across the table. Worn, cracked digits ran over the back of Diana’s hand. Though her fingers were calloused, that side of her remained soft.

“Whatever you need,” he said in earnest.

Diana regarded his touch. She smirked and raised an eyebrow, her mood changed. “Is this your attempt at flirting, Steve?”

He beamed. “Sorry, darling. I play for the other team.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, and paused. “It means I’ll explain it to you later.”

The former princess returned to her food. Another surprise from the world of men; an inside joke Diana was all too happy to draw out. There was time for mourning later, away from the ears of her host.

It was shortly after ordering dessert that Steve Trevor returned to form. Diana had ordered the New York baked cheesecake - a delicacy she declared was ‘fit for the gods’. The Colonel, on the other hand, opted for coffee.

“What you did in saving Celestial City,” he began, “and your work with other metahumans is no less than incredible.”

Diana leaned closer. “Tell me, Steve Trevor. Why does that sound like the start of a proposition?”

“Because it is,” he said.

The Amazon might have been surprised. She wasn’t. “So you lured me here under false pretenses,” she teased.

His military visage cracked. “A dinner with Wonder Woman is its own reward.”

“Perhaps next time I should bring my lariat, just to be certain.”

“Diana,” he said, “are you familiar with my operation?”

“You’re an Air Force Colonel, yes? Working in conjunction with Eden.”

“Air Force, yes,” he continued, “but overseeing operations with Eden on behalf of a government entity known as ‘The Agency’.”

Diana - no, Wonder Woman - regarded him with a hawk’s precision. Her cerulean eyes tightened, never blinking.

“Go on.”

“Our mission is the same as yours,” he said. “Stop the bad guys, protect the innocent. The only difference is that we do it on an official level, and with resources that you’ve never heard of.”

Still she did not blink, though her smile faded. What did he know of her mission? Nothing. All he had was the proof of her actions, and nothing of the purpose that drove her.

“I’m leaving tomorrow to oversee a strike operation,” he said. “It would mean a great deal if you were a part of the team.”

“And if I refuse?”

Steve Trevor might not have balked if not for the arrival of the dessert tray. He fumbled politely as the waiter served them, and only after she was gone did he realize Diana had not broken contact.

He chuckled and turned the handle of his drink to face him. “Then… we go alone, and do what we can without you.”

The cheesecake sat untouched.

“Is your Agency dedicated to justice?” she asked.

Colonel Trevor stared back. “Yes.”

“Though I’ve only been in your world for a short time I have seen much of what men call ‘justice’,” she continued. “It is a justice without compassion; a justice without mercy, or forgiveness.”

“There are times compassion is not warranted,” he said.

“Even so, from what I have gleaned it is in short supply.”

It was during these moments that Steve questioned his career choices; working with free agents under no chain of command. Gone were the days of cadets falling into line the moment he stepped into a room. Then again the traditional career ladder would have failed to deliver him here, to the company of a bona fide superhero.

“I encourage you to bring your lasso next time. Then you could snare me, and I’d tell you all the same that the Agency is doing good work.”

She regarded him a moment longer, then looked upon her dessert. Diana took a fork to the cheesecake and scooped up a greedy mouthful. How decadent it must have been to make royalty moan.

“I’ll go with you,” she said between bites. “You’ve inspired my curiosity, Steve Trevor.” 

The military man eased and sipped his coffee. His superiors held him to a high standard; Wonder Woman’s, he feared, were a great deal higher.

* * *

To ask any of the great minds through the ages all would agree that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Though for the Amazon Asteria that line was shorter still. No sooner had she immersed herself in the salt and brine than she lifted from the sea foam and marched to a new shore. The power of gods themselves turned the Earth beneath her feet, carrying her closer to vengeance.

She emerged under darkened skies. Clouds churned with distant rumblings, coupled with a brisk sea wind to prickle her flesh. Zeus and his ilk were never known for their subtlety, but what care had Asteria? The gods were fickle and prone to mistakes, such as bestowing a child with their blessing over a seasoned warrior. 

There was a time Asteria may have been haunted by her actions, and dread the path she’d chosen. Yet her conscience remained still. The journey washed clean her blood soaked hand. Cold murder lay behind her, property of a land to which she’d never return.

No life adorned the beach that day, and the shacks beyond the grass appeared empty. The only light shone atop the cliffside in the distance. It was warm, inviting, and without her awareness Asteria was drawn to it as would a moth. Her journey continued, sandals crunching in the sand before ascending the uneven terrain.

Some time later she reached her destination, and was met with an orange hue radiating between the pillars of a temple. Within she spied a hunched figure, busying themselves between a table and a stove. Asteria gripped the hilt of her sword, uncertain the shape of a coming threat.

“You can put that away,” the woman croaked. “I don’t bite, ‘less you ask me to.”

Asteria frowned, but released her hold. She peeked inside and made a form shrouded in scraps and pieces. The woman herself was a crone, with withered hands the age of dust. She appeared naught but skin and bone, tanned like leather and cracked with time. It was not until she stood by the table that Asteria noted the endless chasms where eyes should have been.

The old woman lifted her head and smiled. “Oh, I fear I’m being a bad host. Please, sit.”

Still lingering, Asteria regarded the sweet, boiling liquid the crone poured into a pair of cups.

“I’ve been expecting you,” the old woman said.

Asteria scoffed. “That’s impossible.” 

“And yet here I stand, preparing a welcome, as I have for countless of our sisters.”

It was then that Asteria’s nature got the better of her. She drew her weapon - a double-edged short sword known as a xiphos - and aimed the tip between the absence of the old woman’s eyes.

“Reveal yourself, creature!”

“ _ Creature! _ ” She brushed the sword to one side. “Let’s see if you remain as fair after the ravages of mortality! Now, sit. Sit! We have much to discuss, you and I.”

Such instruction ran counter to instinct, particularly if to do so meant making her a fool, but the old woman seemed to pay it no mind. Therefore, neither would Asteria. She sat.

The old woman lifted her cup and blew on the contents. “Drink.”

Asteria lifted hers carefully, and considered the earthy scent. “Kykeon, or some other hallucinogen?”

“Tea, dear. You drink it for enjoyment.”

The warrior sipped on the liquid, and contorted in disgust. “I do not enjoy this,” she said.

“Then a spoonful of honey might-”

Asteria’s fist rattled the table. “Enough idling! Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’ve not even so much as introduced myself. I am she who is Ettahcandei, daughter of Themiscyra, an exile such as yourself.”

Asteria gave pause. “I… am here of my own will.”

“And all the same fated never to return,” said the old woman.

It was a reality that Asteria had nary considered. One thing to enter a world of mystery and avenge her honor, but another to look back on the only world she’d known - her friends, sisters, teachers - and be eternally parted. Yet she remained resolute.

“So shall it be,” she said.

Ettahcandei set down her cup the same she would a great burden. One arm opened her tattered shawl, the other stayed before reaching inside.

“To survive this world you will need papers, identification, official documents,” she said, “and knowledge. The world of men is different from the stories we were told. It has… grown.”

“And you would give me this,” Asteria said.

Ettahcandei nodded. “Such is my role. Any loyalties once held to Hippolyta have passed, but duty to my sisters - particularly those who land on these strange shores - remains strong.”

“Then give me information, fellow Amazon.” Emerald eyes flared. The fires of the warrior spirit burned with vengeance, and tools to aid her quest were in dire need.

The crone reached under her shawl, and removed an object with a sudden weight. She held it with the same concern that Atlas shouldered the world, and slowly, meticulously, unveiled a shimmering, silver orb.

“ The Eye of Graeae,” she explained. “My gift alone to carry, but… I am generous with it.”

Asteria fixated upon the object. “And with this eye you are granted supernatural knowledge.” It was a statement more than it was a question.

“Indeed, sister. And you shall have a peel.”

She scraped the orb with a brittle, yellow nail, and from it produced a single sliver, fine as hair, and offered it to Asteria. The Amazon took the piece, and with it received a sharp pain that pressed into her brow.

Asteria struggled to her senses, but was with each attempt forced to her knees by a rushing vision. They showed her a world beyond comprehension; structures of metal and glass reaching to the sky, machines snaking down roads with men and women in their bellies, and electric windows that captured pictures to send across the world. And there was more - men,  _ super _ -men, and among their ranks a Wonder Woman. She grit her teeth, no longer fighting the pain accompanying truth.

“This is natural,” the old woman said. “Let it pass.” And it did.

The Amazon gasped as she found her feet. What power! What knowledge! All the better to aid in her mission.

“ The Eye of Graeae ,” the warrior said. “I shall have it for my own.”

Ettahcandei shuffled back, clutching the Eye in her rags. Her benign features turned with her mouth opening a foul pit. The stench of rot and ash blackened the air with the force of a hurricane; woman became other.

“It is mine,” she roared. “You cannot have it! I should die before I let it go!”

“Then die you shall!”

With a determination sharpened over a century the younger Amazon charged. The tip of xiphon pointed to run the crone through, but the old woman was deceptively agile, leaping from corner to corner, even scaling the pillars as would a lizard. Wherever she jumped Asteria remained a step behind, but only a step.

Ettahcandei wailed. “Argonauts!”

Asteria turned with the expectation of men. At last! The opportunity was at hand to slay the legendary oppressors of her kind. However the men she faced were not of flesh and blood, but bronze and iron, towering over her like the temple statues in Themiscyra.

With each step they groaned and landed with ground shaking force. Two by two they crossed the threshold, some bearing spears, others bearing a single-sided blade known as a kipos. Each bore a frozen expression stained green from moisture, as equally cold as their intent.

Thunder roared and wind shrieked like the maw of Tartarus beckoning them to death. Asteria lunged. If she were to die on this hill it would be because she was unworthy of revenge; a notion so abhorrent that it turned her stomach.

She rolled across the dusty tile, narrowly avoiding a sweep from a giant blade. From there she dove between his legs and slashed his tendons. Before the bronze monster fell to his knees a spear shot down, though only grazed Asteria and she veered away. The spilling of blood served to stoke her rage, inspiring a barbarian rush toward the advancing Argonaut. He reached for a xiphon of his own, too soon to deflect the Amazon’s weapon piercing his chin with a grinding, metallic screech.

Ettahcandei threw her arms high. “No! My Argonauts! Kill her!”

Adrenaline surged through Asteria like wildfire. For so long had she known combat without consequence, fierce sparring in a land of immortals. No more. Though merely statues the felling of Argonauts offered a taste of what was to come. The bronze men collapsed as real men did, clasping at their wounds, never to rise again. Wide eyed and thirsty for blood Asteria grinned, and raised her sword to the next foe.

To call it a battle would be to overstate the strength of the Argonauts. One by one did the Amazon scale their height, and one by one she delivered them her blade. Steel and ironed hissed and clanged, mingled with the grunts of a warrior realized. Her deft of movement and a skill honed through the ages she flew between opponents until the very last man.

The legendary captain, Jason, was the last to the slaughter. His likeness struck the earth with a deep, metallic thud. Like the others he became still, and though legend was not so swiftly dashed this incarnation was gone from this world.

Asteria stood victorious, and wiped the corrosion from her xiphon the same as she would blood. The blade was thirsty as she was for more, thus she turned to the crone, Ettahcandei.

“You killed my Argonauts!” she cried.

Though Asteria did not share her anguish.

“Give me the Eye,” the warrior said, both as instruction and warning.

Ettahcandei reeled toward the corner. Neither the shadows or the rags she pulled tight provided any refuge. Even without her physical sight there was no mistaking the murderous glint projected by her sister. Such was the way of the spirit Asteria had chosen to feed.

She fled like a prey animal into the open with Asteria but a few steps behind. The crone’s heart beat like a tribal drum against the chill of death, and perhaps in doing so clouded her thoughts.

“The Eye will never be yours!” she wailed.

With hurried steps she rounded toward the cliff’s edge and sprinted into the air. Gravity claimed her and pulled down to the crashing waves. In those final moments as her stomach collapsed into freefall Ettahcandei found peace. No matter the circumstance she was far from the warrior’s reach, as was the Eye of  Graeae.

Asteria peered over the edge, though too late to catch the old woman strike the water. She scowled.

“A coward’s death,” she said. Better to face the sword than be stabbed in the back.

With a sharp pain through her temple Asteria was struck with another vision; of mountains, a pine forest, and a floor thick with dry needles; of fanatical men with strange weapons spewing hot pellets; and a name. Asteria steadied herself for the journey ahead.

“Montana...”

* * *

Sleep proved elusive for Diana of Themiscyra. Though Steve Trevor offered her a hotel room out of courtesy, the mattress which the bed had been fitted was softer than she could stand. Perhaps men were accustomed to such opulence, but an Amazon preferred a firm surface upon which to rest.

For a time the sofa seemed a better fit; closer in hardness and shape to the klines of which Diana was familiar, and were it not for the sparse dimensions and the rests on either end she might have slept. Ultimately the former princess chose the floor, and it was there that she slipped into the realm of dreaming.

She opened her eyes to a haze of understanding, and as naturally as she drew breath sauntered above the clear ocean water. In only a few steps she was near to the shore, with man’s world a distant memory.

The moist sand pressed beneath her toes, and the nostalgic smell of pomegranates called beyond the salt air. Diana was like to a child, eager to devour sweet things though she was not hungry. Already she could hear Queen Hippolyta scold her for spoiling her appetite, but for the taste and the juice running down her chin it was all worthwhile.

And then she stopped. She became aware of eyes pouring over her. Diana dropped the fruit and turned, and there between the palms and the brush was a woman. Though her black hair fell over her face Diana knew her to be her mother. Something was wrong, though what she could not say.

The disheveled Hippolyta vanished into the forest.

“Wait!”

The young woman sprinted after her, breath short with alarm. She batted through the leaves and branches, until stumbling upon the steps leading into the city. Diana peered ahead to the lazy shape of her mother, trudging in agony along the path to her throne. No matter how fast Diana’s pace Hippolyta remained distant.

It was then that she realized that her mother had left a trail for her to follow. Diana leaned down and pressed the sticky liquid with a finger, removing all doubt to what it was; blood.

The former princess and current champion, once so proud, prostrated herself on the steps. Her prayer was only a whisper.

“O Hera, Queen of Olympus, Guardian Mother of the Amazons, she who has given us our virtue, our strength, and our nobility; I pray for mercy. Let this prophecy be the conjuring of dark imagination and no more. Spare the life of our Queen Hippolyta in the name of your daughters…”

Gone was the sun, and the azure that stretched to the horizon. In its place was no night, no moon, and no stars. Not even so much as a cloud loomed above. Gone also were the trees, the sand and the ocean waves. All that remained were the marble steps, incandescent in the void, and the red splatter leading up, up, up.

Diana steeled herself, and climbed almost as far as her legs could carry. When finally she reached the town pavilion she sprinted past the fountain and toward the Great Hall. Another set of stairs lead her there, and the blood trail to the wings, and at last the Queen’s chambers.

The young woman froze like a cornered animal. On the tile a few steps inside from the pergola was a body, white dress stained crimson from the pool she laid in. Dread hung greater in Diana’s chest the closer she moved. She kneeled down and reached for the mess of hair hanging over the other woman’s face.

Hippolyta snapped awake with wide, misty eyes. “Diana…”

“Mother?”

Diana’s sweat chilled against her flesh. Surely her senses deceived her; surely this was the mass of her fears given form by sleep. Yet the vision of the woman who reared her was so vivid in detail.

The grey body of Hippolyta then began to weep. She reached out blindly. “My daughter! Is it you?”

Ugly tears ran down both their cheeks. “Mother, what is this? What’s happened to you?”

Hippolyta gasped with a gurgle. “Murder,” she said.

Diana stumbled back.

“Wicked spite fermented into hatred, driven by madness,” the Queen said. “She is all consuming… relentless… Diana, she comes for you. Gird yourself, my daughter! For the fates will guide her to your path…”

Hippolyta wretched and wheezed. Diana removed the wet hair from her mother’s throat to reveal the mortal wound. Any weapon alone would not be enough to end the life of an immortal, unless tainted with the sickly touch of poison.

It wasn’t simply Diana who despaired, but the eternal child inside who needed the guidance of her mother. She threw her head to her mother’s cold breast, and pleaded.

“Tell me, mother! Tell me who did this to you!”

Perhaps Hippolyta was too far gone. “Listen, daughter... and listen well. Do not... give yourself to vengeance…”

Diana threw her fists to the floor. “No, you must tell me who!”

The body winced. Life’s breath lifted from Hippolyta’s body, abandoning the fleshy husk. Yet Diana continued to shake her, to scream, to prompt an answer. Who? Who would commit such a vile crime against their people?

Diana jumped from the hotel floor under sheets drenched with sweat. The same cold from Hippolyta’s quarters chilled in her bones; the same sickly smell lingered in her nostrils. Was it only a dream?

She looked to the curtains. It was still dark out. Diana laid back down, and clutched the churning in her gut. Dead or alive her mother was gone, home in a land that was forever lost to her.

* * *

**NEXT ISSUE:** _ ‘The Path of Warriors’ continues... _


	2. The Path of Warriors - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After making acquaintance with Air Force Colonel Steve Trevor, Diana agreed to take part in a sting operation against an unknown enemy. Later that night she was plagued by a nightmare about her mother, Hippolyta. Meanwhile, Asteria arrived on the shores of Greece and attempted to steal the Eye of Graeae from Ettahcandei. The old woman fled for her life with the Eye still in her possession before throwing herself from a cliff into the ocean.

Diana of Themiscyra was no stranger to the sky, having cut her teeth against her mother’s bosom on the back of a pegasus. Yet to ride in the belly of a helicopter left her ill at ease.  _ Such a needlessly aggressive machine _ , she thought, blades whipping without grace at the air, fighting rather than cooperating. A far cry from a winged horse born from the blood of Medusa and the salt sea foam, who with a single beat of their wings could carry a rider to the clouds; but such was the way of the world from her home where touches of magic had long been forgot.

She stared through the windows and beyond the mountainous terrain. Visions lingered in her mind’s eye of blood and betrayal. Was Diana like Cassandra of legend haunted by supernatural knowledge, or was it the fermentation of her anxieties, fuelled by heartache and uncertainty? She sighed and continued to idle, finding little wonder in the land called Montana.

At her side was Steve Trevor, and opposite two men in green; military men, near identical in height and build. Their name tags read ‘MacIntyre’ and ‘Roberts’, and were it not for the silent conversation they shared Diana may not have thought to notice them.

Colonel Trevor addressed them through the crackling headset. “Something on your minds, gentlemen?” 

Roberts bit his lip, and with a glance dared his companion to speak.

“As a matter of fact, sir,” MacIntyre smirked, “my friend and I have a few questions for Ms. Wonder Woman here, sir.”

Steve turned to the Amazon, knowing better than to speak on her behalf. Diana pulled herself from dreaming and forced a smile.

“Yes, of course.”

The headset projected her own words back to her. Somehow she sounded different. Was that really her voice?

MacIntyre chuckled. “You come from an island of women, is that right? No males of any kind for thousands of miles.”

“No human males,” Diana explained. “Only lower beasts. Perhaps the odd centaur or satyr. But they are not regarded as ‘man’ in the sense that you know.”

The soldier nudged his companion. Roberts looked away as though embarrassed to hear it aloud.

“My friend doesn’t believe you, ma’am,” he continued.

Colonel Trevor barked, though Diana beckoned him settle. She cocked her head toward the pair, curious.

“What don’t you believe?”

“That you’re an Amazon from some magical island,” Roberts said. “We’ve got a Superman come down from another planet, another guy who breaks the sound barrier when he goes for a jog, little green men from Mars-”

“One man,” Diana insisted, “and he is not, as you say, ‘little’.”

“Just one of those things is weird enough, but for a whole ‘Justice League’ to appear in North America, all at the same time; bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“That’s enough,” Colonel Trevor huffed.

Diana fixed on the first soldier. “Is this what you believe also?”

MacIntyre shrugged with a wry smirk. “Honestly, ma’am, all these metahumans, and a slew of government black sites doing god knows what, anything’s possible. All we’ve got that an island of Amazons exists is your word.”

The former princess frowned. Though she wore the Circlet of Athena, the Bracelets of Aphrodite, the Girdle of Gaea, and carried the Lasso of Artemis, they alone were not proof of her heritage. In her own experience the remnants of home grew more distant, more vague; ever more the property of memory.

“Perhaps it is as you say,” she murmured.

Though Steve offered a comforting hand she returned to idling. It would not do to stoke her fears on the day of battle.

* * *

No sooner had the panel door opened than Diana burst into the open. The mountain air soothed her, unlike the insides of the metallic beast. So confined were the people of this world, moving from one box to the next. How did they not scream for freedom? She turned to the sun and smiled; warm rays on her skin, and a cool breeze on her back. For all their faults the gods had given them nature, a gift Diana would always cherish.

Steve Trevor watched from a distance, and shooed away the gawkers who had more important things to do. Certainly Diana stood apart from the women in men in fatigues. Her fiery girdle glistened in the daylight, as did her bracelets and crown. The lasso at her side did not need the reflection of the sun, and radiated with its own divine power.

“Welcome to the Treasure State,” the Colonel remarked.

Beyond the tents and regimented forces, Diana absorbed the bird songs and trees exclusive to the region. From where she stood all the way to the horizon lay a wild country largely untouched by humanity.  _ ‘A treasure indeed,’ _ she thought, before returning to the purpose of her visit.

Moving together toward the main structure, Steve ushed Diana into a makeshift command centre with computers mounted on collapsable tables. Soldiers by the dozens moved back and forward between comrades positioned on each station. It was an organized headquarters as Diana had ever seen. At the far end, stood by a large map of the region was another well-kempt officer with the same badge as Steve. Another colonel, she determined, of equal rank to her companion.

He reached to clasp Steve’s hand and squeezed as though in competition. His toothy grin indicated a friendly rival. “Colonel Trevor, it’s good to see you again.” He then turned to Diana, and offered her the same hand. “Wonder Woman. Good to finally meet you. I’m Colonel James Mayhew. I’ll be overseeing the operation.”

Diana shook his hand with just the right amount of force; enough to show a leader that she was formidable. It appeared she was successful, as he let loose a hearty chuckle.

“What’s the situation, Colonel?” Steve pressed.

The jovial smile cooled. Colonel Mayhew ushered the pair toward a large map mounted to a board. “Not good, I’m afraid. Agency resources have determined that far-right nationalist militias across the globe are collectivising under a single banner. They’re calling themselves ‘The Fourth Reich’. So far we’ve yet to identify their benefactor, save to say they’re well connected. However, intelligence sources have pointed us to a stronghold in this region where the Fourth Reich have started to aggressively expand their North American arm.”

Diana furrowed her brow. “Who are these people? What do they want?”

“They’re Nazis, Diana,” Steve said, as though the name alone answered her question.

“What is ‘Nazis’?”

Both Colonels sighed. A heavy weight dropped in their chests. Steve was the first to speak, and in doing so shared a history that chilled Diana to the bone. He spoke of an ideologue that galvanised a nation against a minority scapegoat, who in turn waged a war against the world he promised to last a thousand years; of a despotic leader who starved millions in camps, and exterminated them with prejudice; of a madman convinced of his own superiority at the cost of all else.

The Amazon reeled. “And even today, long after his death, people would follow him?”

“There are a lot of individuals out there who hate what he hated,” Colonel Mayhew said. “So long as that hate keeps breathing, we need to be there to stomp it out.”

Had Steve been more forthcoming with the nature of the enemy Diana might have been more ready to join the Agency’s cause. Perhaps, she thought, the Agency truly was the force for justice they claimed to be.

She removed the sword gifted to her by J’onn J’onzz of Mars - at first to the alarm of others - until on bended knee she presented it to the officer.

“Let it be known, James Mayhew of the United States, that I, Diana of Themiscyra, pledge myself against this Fourth Reich, and shall fell them to the last.”

Colonels Trevor and Mayhew were lost for words. In their campaign against a ‘Master Race’ they had a Wonder Woman. It seemed that God, or even a pantheon of gods, was on their side.

* * *

It proved no mean feat to move through the new world. Where once crossing borders required only a determined course, in the present were official representatives demanding declarations of paper. Though bureaucracy and ‘security’ were no obstacle for the likes of Asteria.

By foot she made her way to Italy, then by boat to a North African nation of Morocco, and finally to Nicaragua by means of rusted ex-military aircraft. The journey was not a glamorous one, but it mattered not if she could move without documents. From there was the simple matter of moving north along the continent, past fanatical guards who posed no threat against a warrior trained in stealth.

The things she had seen; strange people and cultures, animals that defied imagination, and exotic foodstuffs that left Asterias palette in awe. They bowed to gods old and new, and lived inside devices carried in the palms of their hands. Yet all paled in contrast to her mission, and the cries of honor sullied.

Asteria’s sandals crunched the needles under foot. Her legs ached, but not so fiercely to beg rest. This land called Montana, for all its beauty held many unseen dangers. The first lay in its terrain, and the many steep climbs where a false step might throw one to gravity. The next was exposure. Though milder than some climates, an ill-prepared traveler without a cloak or bedroll would invariably be whittled away by cold. The third, of course, were men themselves. To think on them Asteria might scoff. They were the least of her concerns.

Sounds of buzzing prompted the Amazon to refuge. She watched from beneath the trees as a pair of metal transports cut through the air. When certain they were passed she returned to the open, and observed from a distance as they circled toward their destination. Asteria’s lip curled. She had gleaned such technology in her visions; the same which guided her to this place, and into the path of her foe.

Asteria discarded her coat and bed roll, and positioned them at the base of a tree. She had no need of them in the hours that followed.

She prayed.

“O Artemis, goddess of the hunt, goddess of this and all wilderness, of the moon and of chastity; grant me swiftness and cunning this day. Bestow upon this humble daughter the spirit of the apex predator, so that in your name I would restore my honor!”

Removing the xiphon from its scabbard she pressed a finger to its edge. The blade was thirsty as ever. Still she prayed.

“O Nemesis, goddess of divine retribution, the righter of wrongs, she who punishes the hubris of mortals; I beseech thee, guide my blade in the name of balance, honor, and justice!”

Asteria broke into a sprint, strength renewed, in search of her quarry.

* * *

By eleven-thirteen hours they were on the move. Colonel Mayhew assigned Diana to a squad traversing the Southern flank of the enemy compound before moving to the main road due East. Their mission - to interrupt enemy security and surveillance before the main strike.

The former princess steeled herself. Were it but the vanquishing of evil she fought for, the Colonel’s report went into great detail. Families and children were stationed within the compound, and nursed on the same hate served them by patriarchs. More than any it was for them that Diana set forth, doing so in the hope of liberating hearts before they set.

For the mission she adorned the color of her allies - muted green layered her usual garb, thus removing any distinction between her and Agency troops. Not only did they warm her during the mountain trek and provide camouflage, but they concealed her status. What alarm the Fourth Rich might feel to know an Amazon was coming for them.

Steve Trevor’s voice buzzed through a device wedged in her ear.  _ “So far, so good, team. Keep moving.” _ What a strange sensation, as though having a sprite fly up and whisper to her.

Both MacIntyre and Roberts were assigned to her company, and moved in single file ahead and behind. They too felt the chill of anticipation; their breaths still until the moment of combat. Then their hearts would beat with wild abandon, tempered by training and resolve.

They moved in silence, marking traps and locations with gestures over words. Diana remained vigilant as the experts did their work.

Between the trees over the ridge there was a sudden twinkle. Diana remained steadfast, and yielded to the pull in her bracelets. In the blink of an eye it struck - small, but with power enough to throw the warrior from her feet. The bullet ricocheted off the enchanted bracelet with a heavy thonk.

“Sniper!”

The squad rushed for cover. Diana, head over feet, climbed from the bushes. The only injury she nursed was to her ego, though the sleeve of her uniform was in tatters. No matter. Upon discovery of their position she had no more need for coverings. Ripping away the shirt and trousers the recruit turned Wonder Woman rushed to the valley in the direction of their attacker.

“What the hell are you doing?” MacIntyre roared.

The sound of Colonel Trevor’s grin carried over the transmission.  _ “Doing what she does best, Lieutenant. Sit tight.” _

With great strides and mighty leaps the former princess crossed the length of three football fields. She all but flew between the trees, over rocks and the gentle brook running the crease of the valley. All in a matter of seconds.

A second shot flew toward her, but she was ready. Wonder Woman planted her feet and crossed her bracelets. The precise, high-powered bullet collided with its target, and though her feet slid against the dust and stone she held fast to her balance.

With a grunt she continued to move, barely slowed up the incline of the mountain. Adrenaline surged through her limbs, driving her at speeds to rival Hermes or the Flash - or rather it felt as such. Unfettered by gravity the Amazon hurled her lariat above the cliffs.

The enchanted rope snaked between the trees above, their path determined by the will of their owner. They pulled taut, and in doing so lifted the former princess from the ground to new heights. Diana sprinted along the vertical face and flew from the edge of the precipice, hair flapping in the rush of cold mountain air.

As soon as she landed she closed on the enemy. There, laying on his stomach was a scrawny man in fatigues and painted to match his environment. He turned, wide eyed, and reached for a smaller weapon.

Even at close range there was no danger of his landing a shot. The Nazi unloaded an entire clip, only for their contents to pang helplessly against her bracelets. Wonder Woman frowned. The assumed greatness of the ‘Master Race’ was not evident in her foe.

With but a kick he was subdued. Concussed, perhaps, but no longer a threat.

“Steve, I got one,” she chirped.

No response came; not from the Colonel or her team. Diana paused, and stared into the wilderness. An ill breeze pricked her neck. Something was amiss, but what she could not say.

* * *

Colonel Trevor leaned over the console. “What happened to the signal?”

“Team two’s gone dark, sir.”

The military man stiffened. Prepared as he was for complication, disorder grated on a raw nerve. He drew slow, deliberate breathes, and became an island in a sea of activity. Men and women dashed across the wide floor of the tent more chaotically than the Colonel would otherwise permit. Perhaps he had come to take smooth operations for granted, even among the free-roaming specialists and outcasts that comprised the Agency.

A soldier barked from his radio. “Teams one and three reporting in. We’re seeing movement in and around the compound. Still no word on team two’s position.”

Colonel Trevor balled his knuckles until they turned white. Soon this strike would become a skirmish.

“They’re mobilizing,” he said.

“Then we need to get into position,” Colonel Mayhew responded, already halfway through the flaps of the tent. He directed orders at the top of his lungs, bringing troops into line ahead of schedule.

Sweat trickled down Colonel Trevor’s rigid brow. The Sword of Damocles swung low over their camp. Despite contingencies there was no grace to an operation once cover was blown. All they could do was pray for speed, and that the presence of a Wonder Woman would be enough to win the day.

“Sir, we’ve got satellite visual on team two’s position.”

Colonel Trevor all but threw himself over the station. On screen, wandering toward the brook running along the valley was a black haired figure; upon enhancement a woman carrying a lariat in one hand and a sword in the other. Diana of Themiscyra was alive.

His sweat cooled, and the Colonel exhaled. He should have known. Whatever gods existed she was under their protection. More than that Diana was strength incarnate, the equal to any man no matter the multitude. He was a fool to ever doubt, and knew so.

“Where are the others?”

The camera scanned the treetops to no avail, but settled on a second figure - blond, with old world arms, dressed neither as an Agency recruit or soldier of the Fourth Reich. A closer scan revealed armor constructed of leather and hide, similar in cut and substance to the woman she approached.

Colonel Trevor frowned. “Who in the hell is that?”

* * *

The forest was silent. No creature stirred in anticipation of coming conflict. Diana marinated in the ill breeze and surveyed the land. No sign of anyone, least of all her Agency companions. Their absence denoted an enemy more cunning than the last, who had waited for her to act before making their move.

She inched between the trees, leather boots crunching in the foliage, and searched with all her senses. Diana twirled her sword. Mountain cold chilled the blade. The rushing beat of her heart swelled behind her ears - though her fear was long muted by discipline, and dread discarded to the fire in her belly.

A voice echoed from atop a ridge in the near distance. “Hail, Diana, Princess of Themiscyra!”

Did her eyes deceive her? Diana turned to face her sister, Asteria, far from the shores of their island home. The last she had seen of her the now former princess had bested her in the arena, and in doing so stoked the temper typical of her fellow warrior. How strange to see her in this new world, garbed in leather armor, with her thick, golden braid hanging down her shoulder.

Diana ascended the stones by the creek and waved. “Hail, Asteria! It is good to see you, but you should not be here. My team and I-”

Her words fell short as Asteria drew her xiphon. Eyes locked as they did in the arena, seconds before the bout. The warrior nursed the same determination as that day, and more. Much as she thirsted for blood at the best of times, something dark sharpened her stance.

The former princess stepped back to adopt a defensive position. “Where are my team?”

“They’ll live,” Asteria said. “I’ll make certain they are tended to. My quarrel is not with them.”

Diana ran her gaze over her sister. The Amazon was covered in sweat and grime but, best as she could tell, there was no blood. The xiphon glistened silver and had yet that day to taste death. Thank Hera for small favors.

“Asteria, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

The warrior turned her nose and sneered. “Queen Hippolyta is dead,” she announced with no hint of remorse.

Cold reality snapped in Diana’s bones, and hollowed her of all feeling. She stumbled, nightmares realized before her very ears. Visions of Hippolyta laid on the floor of her quarters overtook her senses. Diana felt the struggle of her mother’s gasps as if there were her own, and trembled.

“Murder…”

Asteria appeared to frown on one side, and smirk on the other. “It is so.” 

Torn between fury and grief Diana found the means to steel herself. There was time later for both. Her fists tightened, one around the strings of her lariat, the other on the handle of an alien weapon. She squeezed for all she had, so tight they might otherwise shatter in her grip.

The former princess shot daggers with her gaze. “How?”

“A poisoned arrow through the neck,” Asteria told her, just as Diana had seen in her vision. The warrior twirled her sword and chopped the air. A wry satisfaction took her expression. How could one be so blithe when drinking the anguish of another remained a mystery beyond Diana’s fathom.

“No…”

“It’s true,” Asteria said. “I’ve seen the wound with my own eyes.”

Diana roared. “Who would do so wicked a thing as to murder our queen?” Such was not the Asteria she’d known her earliest years. Though proud as she was curt, Asteria had always treasured the camaraderie of her sisters, and was noble in her pursuit of accolade; or so Diana had believed.

“Our queen, Hippolyta; maudlin and sentimental, and lukewarm in her honor?”

Though powerless against yesterday, Diana held tight to the power of the present. If she could not save her mother then she could at least bring her murderer to justice. The former princess leapt into the air and swung her sword from on high. Metal clanged against metal, swords locked, with the two women pressing against each other with all their strength.

“That is my mother you speak of!” Diana hissed.

Asteria spat in her face. “Your mother, my defiler!”

“Still your tongue! She was no such thing!”

The seething Amazon pushed Diana away with her boot. One careful foot after the other they circled upon the flat rock as wild animals vying for dominance. Never once did their gaze wander lest their nerve determine an early victor.

“She was, Diana; as are you,” Asteria seethed.

For all of her resolve a chill ran through the foundation of Diana. To live a life apart from her mother was inevitable, but to live in a world without her was without comprehension. Behind the eyes of an Amazon champion she felt the cries of a child, desperate for comfort and guidance. For that reason Diana had to be sure of herself, and to be the parent she had lost.

“What have you done, Asteria?”

The Amazon threw herself into combat. Swords clashed and bodies twisted. Shaped by their training, fueled by their rage, sister battled sister with the promise of blood to come.

Asteria roared. “The queen is dead, and you shall follow!”

* * *

**NEXT ISSUE:** _ ‘The Path of Warriors’ continues... _


	3. The Path of Warriors - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agreeing to aid Steve Trevor in the Agency’s campaign against the Fourth Reich, Diana comes into the path of her fellow Amazon, Asteria, and learns of her mother’s murder.

Were you to ask Hunter Maddox of his loves he would answer first in a clear, booming voice, ‘America.’ Home of the brave, one republic under God; a republic degraded by immigrants and degenerates who drove true patriots to the fringes in their cultural war.

To think on it turned his stomach. White girls having black babies, Aryan children turned thugs by hip hop music, American families starving so that a Mexican might have a father’s job. What was the world coming to? Somebody had to take a stand. That somebody, it seemed, was him.

Hunter Maddox loved his country, and it was his country, same as it was the property of any native born white man. Perhaps he loved it even more than his wife and children. To that end he had no qualms in taking arms against a corrupt government, side by side with his brothers guarding the compound gates.

He marched along the ground, weapon in hand, and helped guide women and children to the barracks. From adolescents to infants, they were the future of the white race; a future the New World Order would steal from them if they had their way, and murder through the watering of blood. He would not stand for it, and neither would the elder children eager to prove themselves as men.

There was a bite to the mountain air, perfect for sharpening a man’s senses. Hunter inhaled and slicked back the length of hair atop his otherwise shorn head. War was inevitable, but not even he had expected one so soon. Once reports came in of an insurgent force moving through the forest his brothers were ready to stand their ground, but was he?

What would the Fuhrer do in his boots?

Men by the dozen scrambled for their posts behind barricades and on top of walls. That there were so many once seemed impossible. It seemed so long ago that the Aryan Nation was fated to die away in the obscurity of the jungle. All that changed, however, when contacted by his secret benefactor.

Now was the time to prove himself. Hunter Maddox set his eyes on the gate and cocked the barrel of his tried and true firearm of choice, the AK-47.

“And now we fight terror with terror,” he said.

* * *

On Themiscyra, for an Amazon to take arms against another was cause for mourning. Within the surge of malice was paradise broken, and such a tender thing requiring all hands to mend was lost. Yet Diana and Asteria were no longer part of that land, and none were present to weep for them.

Sister moved against sister with murderous intent. Swords clanged through the forest, prompting the cry of birds. With skill sharpened over an immortal lifetime the pair gained and lost ground, twisting and blocking and striking with every limb. They would fight until the evening if needed, just as they had when sparring so long ago.

Disbelief swelled in Diana’s chest, though she had no time to dwell. Once when she was but a child Asteria was assigned her bodyguard. The pair were never close, but the respect of her elder was enough for Diana. Though Asteria had not the patience her sisters she would so often become ensnared in the girl’s curiosity. Such was the charm of the only babe on an island of immortals. It appeared it was not to last.

Blades collided, and with all the force she could leverage Asteria forced herself down. Her xiphon ground against the martian sword until the handle brought them to a standstill. Diana resisted for all her strength, and pressed so close as to taste her enemy’s sweat. With a free hand Asteria reached for her dagger and thrust, only to be deflected from one of the bracelets gifted by Aphrodite.

The young former princess turned to sweep the leg, but Asteria held tight. The two warriors fell and rolled, swords holding them apart, until the warrior threw her foe and gave some distance. With the swiftest of their forest companions they found their feet and circled for a second bout.

In the harsh silence Diana flooded with emotion. Loss. Betrayal. Impotence. If only she had stayed. Asteria would have what she wanted, and she… no.

Diana hardened her resolve. Fate demanded she be champion for a reason. Tragedy was not the product of her action, but that of her mother’s murderer. She arched her shoulders and redoubled her stance, never once looking away.

“Why, Asteria?”

The Amazon snarled. “Are you going to keep mewling, or are we going to fight?”

“She didn’t have to die,” Diana said.

Asteria laughed, but did not falter. “Yes, she did! She wronged me, Diana! As did you!”

“Then why not put an arrow through my neck? Why didn’t you face her as you face me now?”

At that her mood turned. “Yours is the mettle against which I must prove myself,” Asteria said. “Your mother… our queen… she may well have grown fat sitting on her throne. She deserved no such dignity as what I give you!”

Oh, for the will to run her through; for the burning malice to end the life of a murderer. Yet not even in the face of such a crime was Diana’s heart so hard as to act with finality. Even without the words of her mother’s spirit it was not the way of Diana, of Wonder Woman.

_ ‘Do not... give yourself to vengeance.’ _

She would not. She could not. There was yet another way.

Though favouring the sword Diana held another item that proved as true. She dropped her blade, and in a fluid motion slipped the lariat into her dominant hand. The former princess charged, swirling the divine rope through the air, much to the surprise of her enemy.

It weaved and burned with the will of its owner. Asteria turned, but could not evade the supernatural turns of the rope. Snared by the wrist the Amazon turned, only to pull tighter into its hold. She thrust, making one desperate turn to run her opponent through, but landed instead in Diana’s hold with a bracelet pulled to her chin. Diana’s other hand held the knot tight.

“What sorcery is this?” Asteria demanded.

“In a world where you proved worthy this tool would be yours,” Diana said. Though a cruel barb of the tongue it remained true.

Asteria struggled, but the divine strings did not yield. They sizzled against her flesh the more she fought, but she would not relent. Rage flushed through her veins. Magic was the tool of the weak.

Diana redoubled her hold. “Why do you do this, Asteria? Answer me true.” And Asteria would, for the lariat compelled her so. Such was the will of Artemis for whom it was forged.

Both Diana and Asteria winced as a vision pressed into their thoughts. From one moment to the next they were transported through space and time, back to the island of their birth. They watched from afar as spirits floating in the ether, until they came to a clear pool sparkling under light of the moon. There, kicking her feet in the water, was a familiar girl.

“It’s… it’s me,” Diana gasped. Was this the reason for which Asteria resented her?

_ As a child Diana was so small, so innocent. To view herself from the outside she grasped the need of her mother to offer protection; a need she often found stifling. So precious a thing was a child, even one such as herself. _

_ Just then the sky grew dark. Heavy clouds pulled over the moon’s gentle gaze. The clear waters of the pool turned black, and the little girl shivered. Had her mother or sisters been present she might pretend to be brave, but she was alone. _

_ No, not alone. _

_ The air tickled with the scent of ozone and spice. Electricity danced between the girl’s hairs, prompting them to stand on end. Diana searched the darkness, clutched her arms, and turned as a musical hum drew closer. _

_ It was a woman, but not one she knew; not a sister of Themiscyra. An eerie light revealed a figure with flaming red hair and sparkling eyes of amethyst. Her gown cascaded down her in varying hues, much like Diana had imagined they would on Olympus. Yet this woman was not a goddess, nor was she human. _

_ “Do not fear, child,” she hummed. Her voice was sweet as honey, and trickled into her ear with warmth and affection. _

_ The little girl edged toward her. “Who… who are you?” _

_ “A friend,” she said, and was so appealing that the words rang true. The strange woman leaned close and beamed at her. “And look, I’ve brought another friend as well!” _

_ The woman lifted a layer of her gown, and from it appeared a small woman, no taller than Diana. She appeared strange to the girl; softer than her mother or sisters, with layers of fat rounding her body. It wasn’t until she noted their identical black hair that Diana realized she was not only staring at another child, the first she had ever seen outside herself, but a twin so exact she might have stepped from a mirror. _

_ Diana reached to touch her, but the girl remained idle. She did not stare back with the same wonder shared by her double, or do much of anything at all. Instead the girl stared into the middle distance, and walked only when her escort instructed. _

_ “Who…?” _

_ “She is your sister, Diana,” the woman said. “A sister more true than you have ever known.” _

_ “My… sister…” _

_ “And she needs your help, Diana,” the beautiful woman undulated. “She is lost without you, Diana. Will you help her?” _

_ The little girl swam through her thoughts, lost in a haze, though she hardly appeared to notice. Her main concern was for this other girl, whoever she might be. _

_ “What… what must I do?” _

_ The fascinating woman reached to Diana as though reaching into a fire, and with a single digit running down the girls chest evoked a body of blue flame. Diana started awake and gasped, being more alive in that moment than she’d ever been! Yet she remained still as the woman stole a lick on the tip of her finger and placed the flame on the chest of the twin. _

_ With a sudden gasp the other girl woke, and struggled to make sense of the world around her. She whined and whimpered at first, but was soothed by the strangers spindly fingers. _

_ “Sisters, both,” she mused. “Two parts of the one soul.” The witch stroked the hair of the newly realized girl.  _

_ Diana smiled. The prospect of a sister was so joyous. What a strange and unusual blessing she had received! But it was not to last. _

_ Something heavy moved through the bushes, followed by a blade to cut them short. At the other end of it was a blond haired Amazon with a long sword, not at all fascinating by the vision before her. Asteria growled as the angry dog she was. _

_ “By Hera! What sorcery is this?” _

_ Amethyst eyes flared with power. Where once was a vision of gentleness the witch was overcome with fury. She clasped to Diana’s wrist and spewed words ancient and arcane from her lips. The witch stumbled away from the warrior, clinging to the wailing little girl, and raised her claws high. _

_ Asteria reached for her. “Princess!” _

_ Then in a flash of light it was over. The moon had returned to the sky and Asteria was alone with a little girl. The elder Amazon stopped to consider the sword in her hand, but could not make sense of why she held to it. She turned to the child, the purpose of her search. _

_ “Asteria, can we please go home?” the little girl asked. _

_ Yet the warrior was reluctant to reach for her, whatever the reason. There was nothing to fear from this child, Diana, and yet… _

The vision ended, and the two women snapped back to the mountains of Montana. They fell apart, the violence gone from them, with Diana’s lariat curling into a layered ring by her side.

They stopped and they heaved, having survived a more harrowing an experience than the battle that brought them together. Wide eyed with disbelief they turned to each other. The burden of sudden memory weighed on them both. What had they seen? And how had they forgot?

“Asteria…”

The elder Amazon scrambled to her feet and sprinted into the forest. Diana followed, driven by the same desperation. She dodged between the trees, and called out her name.

“Asteria!”

But it was of no use. With fleetness of foot and deftness of a jungle cat Asteria vanished into the wilderness, leaving the former princess alone to process.

* * *

Colonel Trevor hung from the open door of the helicopter and stared down at the pines. The canopy of needles was so dense as to be oppressive, keeping his eyes from the forest floor. Truly this was the last of the wild frontier, one of the final reserves of nature unconquered by man. He might have thought it beautiful if not for the monsters who found refuge there.

Rather his thoughts remained on Diana, that extraordinary woman from a place beyond reckoning. Others may have thought her origins a myth, or a cover-up, but for Steve Trevor there was no room for doubt. Staring into her deep, pale blue eyes was to know truth beyond truth; an unyielding dignity that held fast in an uncertain world. It was the absolute quality of Diana. She could not lie, not that she would ever want to.

Never could he imagine such a thing to come from the tragedy at Eden. Diana, a former immortal, she who walked among the Justice League, had chosen him to anchor with humanity. Why he couldn’t say, only that his own agenda of acquiring a superhuman asset blossomed into something more; a friendship for the ages.

He only hoped that connection wouldn’t lead her to harm.  _ I’m being stupid, _ he thought; she was Wonder Woman, more capable than half the Agency put together.

The helicopter circled the mountain and descended toward the valley marked on the map. For a short distance the trees divided over a creek, then ran the length of a cliff face by an opposing mountain.

_ “We’ve got visual,” _ the pilot crackled over the headset.

Colonel Trevor peered to the nearby hill where in a small clearing Diana squatted by members of her team. They sat in a row, exhausted, but very much alive, with some nursing heavy bandages and splints. The helicopter lowered, and as it approached Diana waved to the sky, beckoning them closer.

What a sight for sore eyes! Despite the shape of her team there wasn’t a scratch on her. Sweat and dirt, but not much else. She carried a muted smile as they approached. What happened to them in the time they lost contact?

Colonel Trevor demanded the pilot take them low enough for him to drop, and did so just a few feet from the ground. He landed in a squat on a flat piece of rock, and sprinted toward the team. Men and women cheered when he reached them, half-heartedly but with genuine relief.

Diana nodded. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“‘Colonel’ while we’re on assignment,” he said. Were it not for his discipline and rank he would have thrown his arms around her. Steve’s expression hardened. “I want a full report on what happened here.”

Roberts sat up and winced. “It was an ambush, sir. An unknown enemy… appeared out of nowhere. Took us out like we were nothing and then destroyed our transmitter.”

“How many?” the Colonel asked.

The troops were reluctant to answer. Diana spoke in their place. “One.”

He nodded, having seen for himself the other figure on the satellite image. To know that one so powerful was out there working against them churned uneasily in his gut. Such a foe would prove a challenge, even with Wonder Woman in tow.

“Fourth Reich?”

“Amazon,” Diana said. “Her name is Asteria. She spared your men, but has come for my blood.”

A twitch, unnoticed by the team but obvious to a friend, betrayed her feelings. Steve guided her out of earshot and softened as he spoke.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though it was only true in one sense.

“This… Asteria,” he said, raising his voice to be heard. “Will she complicate the mission further?”

The ill feeling boiled. Timing was of the essence. Who knew when the next opportunity to strike would arise if the Fourth Reich held their ground. Complications such as this would prove too great a risk to his people.

Diana breathed, and all but billowed smoke as she exhaled. Still she answered with the truth. “No.” Her word was all the Colonel needed.

He turned to the troops. “Listen up. First thing we get you all back to base. Colonel Mayhew’s moving into position as we speak and leading the strike. Sorry, team. You’ll have to sit this one out.” Not a popular choice by any stretch, but there was no questioning their injuries.

Colonel Trevor turned back to Diana. “You and I need to hurry. They’re going to need you during the first attack.”

She considered her sword for a moment, then eased her hand. Diana, former princess of Themiscyra, removed the lariat from her side and fed the strands through her palm.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Asteria stumbled between the trees, blinded by the vision stabbing her temple. Whether memory or hallucination she struggled to determine, for it seemed there was no place for it in her mind. Or perhaps that was the product of dark magic she’d seen; the same that created an imposter from the princess.

But what did it mean?

The Amazon crashed to her knees and pressed her face into her hands. Calluses grated her cheeks as she wept with agony of body and mind. Oh, how her thoughts screamed to remove this cursed thing, but the memory would not be shaken. Deeper and deeper it plunged until her distant recollection reformed around it. Soon it began to settle, but continued to throb.

She slowed her breathing and leaned against a tree. The day had been one for vengeance, but fate had other plans. It seemed to matter little the more she dwelled on that new sequence of events.

There was no love between Diana and Asteria, though it wasn’t until the child’s adolescence that her regard turned sour. Countless times her sisters told her to discard her jealousy, that it was the place of a princess to be spoiled, and that the role of a daughter was sacred to a mother, which she thankfully would never be. But it was not for those reasons that Asteria grew to resent her. Truly she did not know why, until now.

“She’s an imposter,” the Amazon croaked.

If the vision rang true then there was no denying; dark magic had weaved its way into the courts of Themiscyra, and the sole daughter of their Queen Stolen away by a witch for purposes unknown. Every fibre that made Asteria demanded this wrong be put right, but for a lifetime that was taken from her, leaving her in the company of… of…

The helicopters drew closer, and Asteria had no time left to recover. She pried herself from the dry forest bed and lumbered from one trunk to the next. The hot tang of blood ran down the back of her throat. Still she resisted this alien thought.

Asteria pressed on. 

“Find the witch,” she seethed. “Burn her!” Though her quarry had changed, honor demanded satisfaction all the same.

* * *

Once upon a time the north most parts of Montana served as home to the native Blackfeet Nation. A nomadic people, they hunted bison through the prairies and the arid flatlands, and feasted on meat in camps not set by any border. But it was not to last. The United States expanded, and lines were drawn across the land. The Blackfeet could no longer wander as they once did, so they too confined the bison to their land in new world ranches. But it was not their way; the natives faltered, and over time the range of their territory eroded, often in exchange for food and medicine. Only a few remain to preserve their culture, and in place of those lost to history came a band of invaders more cruel than the last.

The Fourth Reich were clever to choose the mountains as their fort. In isolation their claims went unchallenged, as did the imagined value of their ill-defined race. They projected the greatness of others claimed as their own onto the screens of their pale flesh. Alone in the wilderness their wives had no avenues through which to rebel, and their children could marinate in dogma until it set in their bones. A society in themselves, removed from the rabble. The Fuhrer would have been proud.

Much of the topography remained nameless, and existed in defiance of most travellers. Nestled in those confines a dedicated soldier could live for months and repel any enemy, even one with resources such as the Agency. Survivalists all it was guaranteed they were prepared for a showdown.

Steve Trevor frowned. The Agency had but one chance to strike before the Nazis secured their ground. God help him to share freedom with those who would wrest it from the world.

He turned to Diana, whose gaze was turned away from the road on which they drove. The air was still, but rushed with cold as they moved. Steve drew his jacket tighter and buried his chilled knuckles in the folds.

_ If she wants to speak, she’ll speak, _ he thought. There would be time to debrief later.

To register her anguish taking arms against her sister was one thing, but Steve would never have guessed the thoughts that pulled at Diana; thoughts of long ago, a vision that seemed so vivid; a sorceress and a small child, the first she had seen outside herself, and the flame that joined them. A prophecy, metaphor? Such things would drive the more rational to sleeplessness, others to madness.

Diana snapped to attention with the sound of rattling. She stood, balanced in the still moving vehicle and listened closer. Each tap was an explosion in miniature - machine gun fire, more acute than she’d heard in movies.

“It’s begun,” she said, her thoughts already past the ridge.

Colonel Trevor eased on the brake to look up to the Amazon. Diana was statuesque at the best of times, but to see her pointed to danger set an entirely new picture in his mind. There was no holding her back from a conflict.

“Go,” he huffed.

Diana furrowed her brow, unable to grasp his meaning.

Steve Trevor, the man and not the Colonel, exhaled and dropped his shoulders. He was only human, but the woman next to him was so much more.

“Show them why the world needs Wonder Woman,” he said, flashing a half-grin.

Like a mustang belting down a track the Amazon flew into a sprint toward the sound of battle, sword in one hand, lariat in the other, bounding over rocks and obstacles with superhuman speed. All thoughts of Asteria slipped from her mind, replaced by their purpose in this wilderness region; the utter destruction of the Fourth Reich.

* * *

**NEXT ISSUE:** _ The conclusion of ‘The Path of Warriors’! _


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